O felia

There is a willow grows askant the brook

likely melting



in the depths of my pockets

depths of my eyes

under the mangled ball of cash

and above the tangled ipod earbuds

the lint and dust

the quintessence of dust

i reminisce on those earbuds

on days gone by

reminds me of yesterday

of years ago

of decades

of you

hoping you ignore me

see me

approach me

confront what we had been

what we will be

what we will never be

your soft and gentle hand laced between my fingers

that was a truth

my truth

my fate

i might have asked for a kiss

yearned for a kiss

i spoke too eagerly

too passionately

too truthfully

go back to the willow tree

to my recollection

to the glassy water and count the daises,

the rosemary

the pansies

the fennel

the columbines

find the petals of the rue





the last thing you whispered in my ear

and poof




morphs to a cockle hat

a memory

a dream

yes the heart is fine

is beating

is dead

ok to move on forward

to never look back

to grave jump

guess the reason was noble

the faculties infinite

the action admirable

the apprehension angelic


beauty of the world

paragon of animals


what is this piece of heart which you own now

and tow away as if a key

an antique

slash and splintered thence

the soldier



my heart was never mine but always yours

my mind was never mine but always yours

my body was never mine but always yours

i name you old fling

old love

dormant love

love never blossomed

love i lost

heart i lost


Omit the Obituary

…passed away at the age of 18. Beloved son…Dear Step-son…Loving Brother…Cherished Grandson and Nephew…Immense talent…Extraordinary charisma…Survived by his father. Survived by his Step-mother. Survived by his Aunts and siblings. Survived by his high school friend group who can’t look in one another’s eyes the way they use to. Who can’t hold each other’s faces without seeing his. Who can’t play bowling, or watch a musical, or eat Buffalo Wild Wings without tears swelling into a chokehold. Survived by the boys who wanted to be him. Survived by the girls he would fawn over. Survived by the love and rejection every teenage boy has felt before. Survived by me, who never wanted a chance at life to begin with, who was willing to waste it anyway. Survived by a thousand years of torment and the beginning of the end. Survived by Death itself. Survived by childhood memories. Survived by nostalgia. Survived by the respect of the dead. Survived by all the things I wish to tell you. Survived by never getting in my goodbye because how can you die at 18? Survived by the shortest obituary ever written. Survived by a travesty to his memory. Survived by despite his length of life he was so full of it. Survived by laughing with him and sometimes at him. Heavily survived by guilt. Sometimes survived by survivors guilt. Survived by hoping I never feel such pain again. Survived by the hindsight of knowing I’ll feel that pain again and again and again and. What this obituary won’t tell you is how sometimes I loathed him one day and then loved him the next. How I felt the warmth of his brotherhood in the morning and the fangs of his betrayal at night. But we were kids, right? He was a kid. Visiting Sunday (today) and Monday, 2-4:30pm and 7-9:30pm. Cremation Private.

i am in the coffin there with caesar

and it is full of dark. i am in the coffin

there with caesar, and i can feel my

bones rattle in their place. you can

see me in the coffin there with caesar,

somehow it was made for my dimensions.

i am not laughing, i am not coughing, i am

in the coffin. i am full of worms and rocks.

i am with caesar. hes been here the whole

time. youre invited too. the coffin is fine.

i dont mind the coffin with caesar. ive had

better roommates before, but i dont mind

caesar. he doesnt speak much. its hard

to sleep in a coffin with caesar. i am ready

to go. to leave the coffin. no one came

to caesars funeral. god its getting cold.

i forgot to pack a blanket, and caesar didnt

bring one. no one brought him one either.

you would think the emperor of rome would

have a bigger turn out. would they know i

am in the coffin too? it is getting so cold.

oh god it is so cold. it is dark in the coffin,

but there is no caesar. where is caesar?

is that why its so quiet? is that why i fit

so perfectly? but i was in a coffin there,

with caesar. maybe i am caesar. i am

fourty four bc. i am alone. i am alone,

and it is cold, and i am in a coffin full of

worms, rocks, and dark, and no one knows

im here. i know im here, in the coffin. no

one will pause for me.

Remson DeJoseph is a Doctoral student at University of Delaware, studying Renaissance drama and literature. Apart from academia, Remson is also a performer, playwright, and poet, whose work has seen the stages of New York City and Providence. Remson's writing has been featured in places such as "Chronicle Stories" and "Channillo."